Blood sprayed in a hot mist from the neck of the burly Nord he was fighting, coating his face and landing in his mouth, open with a battlecry as it was. He didn't have time to glance at the body as it fell twitching to the stone floor of Jorrvaskr as he turned to deflect the blow of a sword from an even bigger Nord who smelled like he hadn't bathed since Frostfall. His boots slid on the floor, slick with blood red as garnets as he turned, twisted, and parried with his new opponent.

He could hear Ria's distinct yell from behind him, near the doors to the yard, nearly drowned by the clashing of metal on metal. He could see Athis still on his feet, but fighting nearly as badly as he was bleeding from the gaping wound in his side. The Dunmer was in desperate need of a healer as he swayed and staggered with every blow. He wasn't going to last much longer.

He heard the yard doors slam open once more, though this time with a much friendly voice. "Vilkas!" Farkas shouted.

He saw Njada in his periphery come to the aid of Athis, who almost immediately collapsed, succumbing to his injury. Too preoccupied with his own battle, he shouted over his shoulder, "Farkas, help Kodlak!"

Vilkas flicked his wrist up ever so slightly, managing to gash the cheek of the swordsman in what would become a vivid scar if he lived long enough, but offset his own balance in doing so. As he focused on shifting his weight and blocking the next slash, he heard a ferocious growl from behind him followed by a cry of, "Bastards!"

He heard his brother's agonized shout, felt his heart drop by a realization that hadn't hit home yet, but didn't dare turn. He thought he was gaining ground when another fighter crawled from the woodwork, a large woman with war paint enough to rival his own. Just how many of them were there?

Almost as soon as he thought the question and began to understand just how overwhelmed they were, he heard an unfamiliar bellow from behind him, "We've got it! Fall back!"

And miraculously, they did, perhaps realizing that even if their group were to win the night, many of them wouldn't live to see it. Regardless, he appreciated the reprieve, glaring at their retreat like rabbits into a burrow. Through the doors that were pushed open wildly as one after the other escaped, he watched Torvar grab one by the back of the neck as Aela stabbed his heart with her dagger, two more bodies at their feet on the stairs.

It wasn't nearly enough.

Not as Vilkas turned to check on his brother's condition and found him sitting like a child on the floor at Kodlak's side, nearly catatonic in his vigil. The old man, though bruised and bloodied, looked remarkably passive, the expression on his face too tranquil to have been in battle and lost. Njada slowly and without a word came to kneel on his other side, checking for a pulse they all knew wasn't there.

Kodlak's pale wrinkled skin was nearly all exposed to the air, their stealing of his armor, his dignity, seemingly their last offense before fleeing. Aela came to stand by his side and whispered viciously, "The bastards."

Among other things, but that was a concern for later. His voice sounded hollow to his ears as he asked, "How many others did we lose?"

"No others," she said quietly. "I saw Ria tending to Athis when I came in. If he doesn't get a healer soon, he could be next. Vignar and Brill were locked in their rooms and they just came out after the Silver Hand retreated. Tilma ran down to the lower levels, presumably locking herself in one of our rooms until it finished. Torvar, Farkas, Njada, and I were in the hall when it started and we covered the front. Farkas and Njada broke off to check the back of the hall when it looked like we had a handle on it. Obviously, we failed."

Didn't they all?

Unable to look at the consequences of his failure any longer, he glanced up at the back wall above the stairs. However, something about it was odd. Not like something out of place but like...like…

Like something missing.

Shor's stone! What had they done?

"They're gone," he said, his voice jarring the silence that had befallen their defeated group, all gathered around their fallen Harbinger. "The fragments. The Silver Hand stole the fragments of Wuuthrad."

At his words, their silence went from purely defeated to bitter. Bitter and furious. It wasn't enough to infiltrate the city they'd sworn to protect, to storm their sacred home, to kill one of their own and defile his body. They had to steal their most precious possession for good measure.

"Torvar. Aela. Guard the front doors. No one gets in, not even the city guards," he ordered. "Tell Brill to get a healer from the temple. Now."

Surprisingly, everyone listened without protest, perhaps craving some semblance of order in their chaos. The night had started so peacefully. Vilkas had been asleep in his chambers when he'd heard a commotion from upstairs, one that sounded more brutal that the typical drunken brawl.

Startled but skilled enough to keep his wits about him, he remembered to throw on his armor and grab whichever weapon his fingers touched first before running out the door. A greatsword, apparently. He ran down the hall, sensing Kodlak just on his heels, carrying a large warhammer over his head. Just in that short amount of time, the sound had gone from a small battle to an unrestrained war.

By the time his feet touched the wooden landing of the upper level, all of Oblivion had been unleashed inside of their home, an even amount of ruckus audible outside. Without stopping to think, he launched himself forward into the fray, barely managing to catalog friend from foe. His mind took on a familiar fog, all thoughts leeched from his mind by simple truths : Fight. Protect. Survive.

Steel met silver as weapons clashed and bodies fell. It was a terrifyingly even match. They might have been good, but the Companions were better. The Silver Hand's advantages were surprise and numbers, neither of which would last forever. The Companions had superior skill and rage.

Would it be enough? How many bodies would line the halls this night? How many would be their own?

A familiar and human roar came from behind him as Kodlak, aged and mighty as he was, proved to the enemy why he was the Harbinger. Kodlak's gray eyes met his own, "Vilkas, go! Help the others!"

He glanced to his right and saw both Ria and Athis, twenty feet apart from each other barely holding their own from the middle of their personal rings of enemies. Needing no further instruction, he'd rushed to assist them by taking some of the pressure away.

A log in the blazing fire centered in the hall fell over, jarring Vilkas back to the present with a snap. He blinked furiously, eyes burning with a passion he wouldn't admit to as he tossed questions around within his mind he would never get answers to.

What if he'd stayed behind? What if he hadn't walked away to leave Kodlak on his own? What if he had been up in the hall with his brothers and sisters, rather than having fallen asleep in his quarters while reading.

He had killed Kodlak just as effectively as the sword through his chest. He had left his Harbinger to defend himself without a Shield-brother. Some fine warrior he was, hiding away below with a volume instead of feasting with his kin. Logic tried to rationalize the situation to his distressed mind, but his self-absorbed guilt would hear none of it. He sought to focus on what he could control.

Those fragments.

They needed to get the fragments back. But how could he leave now? He certainly couldn't go alone. He'd now learned that lesson twice over, with the death of Skjor still barely healed, a vivid scar upon his heart where Kodlak's now gushed forth with red, wound still too new to truly hurt. How could he possibly take any help away from his home in order to chase after them? He wouldn't bet on them coming back to finish the job so soon, but they were more monsters than anything that lurked beneath the wolf skin. Anything was possible if they'd already attacked once.

A chill wind swept across the back of his neck as the front doors opened. He spun and opened his mouth to ask Aela's opinion when he stopped short. It wasn't Aela.

Eliana had come home at last.

The bitch.

After having been gone for weeks, avoiding Vilkas ever since the night she was turned, she shows up just moments after the battle? With someone of her reported skill on their side, they may have stood enough ground for Kodlak to still be alive. Her face was pale, making the normally faded scar from her left eye straight down her cheek stand stark. If her expression hadn't looked so shocked and small, the sudden lack of color would have made the mark look fierce as war paint. The armor she wore was black, but smaller than any ebony armor he'd ever seen and gave off a sinister aura. Her equally dark but not quite as malicious bow clung to her back and sword on her hip, the sheathed blade tapping gently against her leg as she walked.

Livid, he stomped across the room and demanded, "Where have you been?"

Her blue eyes seemed to see through him to Kodlak's body. Her voice was quiet but strong, "What happened here?"

His own voice was raw from the yelling, echos of the battle in his ears, "One of the fiercest battles I've ever seen. The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but… The old man… Kodlak… he's dead."

She finally looked at him and he wasn't at all prepared for the anger in her eyes. She could burn entire villages to the ground with that fire, hot enough to match his own. Stunned, he'd always thought her a meek kitchen mouse despite her reputation. Command began to lace her tone, her natural confidence beginning to show through, "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No, but they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad." he couldn't say why he lied to her about one but not the other. Knowing about Athis might upset her, as if she couldn't just look over to find him writhing in a puddle of his own blood. Maybe it's because she and Farkas had risked their lives for some of the fragments that she deserved to know.

Her fingers flinched toward the hilt of her ebony sword and he was struck with sudden inspiration, "But you and I are going to reclaim them. We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak. And they will know terror before the end."

She was quiet for a long moment, the sounds of guards and curious townspeople could be heard outside. He almost feared she would say no, denying any obligation to go on what essentially amounted to a sheer revenge massacre. However, a gelid vengeance hardened her eyes, freezing like the surface waters of the northern seas, and despite the horror surrounding them, the decimation to a place that had served as a safe haven and place of hope to both of them, a manic grin curved her pale lips upward.

And she nodded.

Thank you for reading. Many, many apologies for not posting last week. I fear there may not be another update for some time. A close death in my family is taking up most of my time, time that I usually devote to editing and adding to fanfiction. So, I suppose this is an apology of sorts in advance. Thank you for your understanding.